Shame
by Rufescent
Summary: People can be unfairly judgmental. America and his friends should feel proud of who they are, not ashamed. Or, the two times America speaks up and the one time he doesn't need to. My take on three body-shaming practices. Short oneshot. No explicit pairings.


**Disclaimer** : I don't own.

 **Author's Note** : I wrote this because of the "Dear Fat People" video and the people that support the hateful message Nicole was championing. I do not recommend anyone to watch the original video; if you must, I suggest seeing a reaction video (on YouTube Shawn Halpin's take on her bigotry is also called "Dear Fat People" and he has the original clips of her video with his commentary). Her and her supporters almost made me cry—that kind of thinking is _not acceptable_. Refusing to see someone as another fellow human being is _disgusting_ and _horrible_. If you want to use comedy, at least make it funny and not just artificiality wrapped up with hate.

* * *

 _._

 _"_ _I cry to go outside but then turn around and come right back in for the treats!"_

~ a shamed dog's sign

.

* * *

It was one of the characteristics America really respected about the older country: the power to be himself, no matter what.

France was a flirt, and everyone knew it. There was something about the way he acted that almost made it have an endearing quality. It was simply France's personality, his essence. If France was France without being overly sexual, no one would know how to react.

At the small French bar, the European blond was preening and pouting, gathering the attention he wanted. His clothes were stylish and bold, accenting everything he wanted in exactly the right ways. Most of the others were dressed in casual clothing as well, something empowering in ditching the uniforms.

By his side, England would grumble about frogs. America was busy championing his heroicness and the duo in the Bad Touch Trio were joking and laughing far louder than if they had been completely sober. The other countries celebrating the new law France himself had proposed were also mingling and relaxing. It was like a mini-vacation where they could simply drink beer and not have to act as world leaders.

But then something went wrong.

France abruptly slid off the high bar stool, glaring at the man across from him. As the nations turned towards the Frenchmen, they heard the subdued arguments being tossed back and forth. It became clear that France was rebuffing the man's advances. Soon enough, the human sneered, hissed something, and then stumbled further into the establishment with only one nasty look back.

Sensing the end of the drama, the personifications returned to their business. The night continued. France ordered another drink before he faced England, who was only halfway listening and paying more attention to nursing his beer, and complained dramatically about the audacity of the man. He had said no, so how could the human think it was okay to persist in the rejected exchange?

A French official standing nearby, having heard the exchange, walked up to France.

"You deserved it."

The clear voice so full of dismissive blame could have been shouted by the way France froze. No one else had noticed the unpleasant conversation. England was leaning heavily against the counter and sipping at his drink, oblivious to the world. America was giggling to a forgotten Canada about some nonsense. Prussia and Spain were making rounds, bugging Germany and Romano far more than they should have if the darkening set of eyes meant anything.

" _Quoi_?" France asked, leaning away from the man. His face was glacial and tone perfunctory.

The official started a lecture to explain, either not noticing the heat in the room or ignoring it easily enough.

Halfway through, though, it got America's attention as his semi-aware mind translated bits and pieces of sentences and words. French is so fluffy, he thought as he stared at his distorted reflection in the amber glass.

 _Salope._

 _Sa-lope._

 _Slut._

America didn't know why that word was resonating in his mind. What did it mean again? The American repeated it aloud in English. "Slut," he tried loudly, rolling it around his tongue and tasting alcohol.

Eyes shot to him, and France peered through the corner of his eye at the drunk dirty-blond with masked hurt.

"What?" England questioned, narrowing his eyes at his ex-colony.

America swallowed. The word tasted like bile. His head lolled forward and bright eyes stared at the quiet official and France. "That dude was saying it. Slut."

When America was drunk, he unfortunately got even louder. A rainbow-set array of eyes flicked between the two Frenchmen. The somber reaction of his friends forced the American to think really hard about what it meant. Fuzzy recollection lit up America's face when he realized the definition. Slut. France. Horrified blue eyes widened behind square frames and America felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on him.

That dude was saying it. Slut. _To France_.

No one was doing anything, no one was saying anything, even after the American had brought attention to the conversation. The room felt horribly silent even though the bar was playing light, upbeat music in the background and the chatter of patrons was making a steady hum of sound. Silence is acceptance, America had heard once at a primary school trying to kick-start an anti-bullying program.

The patriotic nation turned to face France. The blond country by the counter had his face covered in gold strands of hair that successfully obscured his eyes. His head was bowed so low he looked like he was hunching into himself. His drink was left untouched on the counter.

America looked back at the countries around him. They did not look like they were accepting the words, but it also wasn't like they were doing anything about it. England was scowling nastily but his glare was turned on the floor. Spain and Prussia had leaned forward in interest, and the dark look in their eyes spoke volumes about the exact kind of interest they had. Yet they were not moving or getting involved.

The state official continued matter-of-factly, concluding his lecture despite the attention with, "You can simply avoid these nasty—"

Maybe it was because his friends were not in their own country. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of the politician to even speak so bluntly to his own representative of the entire country. Whatever it was, America's heart felt like it was being compressed in a centimeter-by-centimeter box of unholy proportions at the quiet. It was _horrible_ and he could not even imagine what France must be feeling.

"—situations by not dressing or acting like such a slut. You deserved what happened."

How dare that villain, America's mind crowed violently. Feeling less drunk than he was, America set his jaw and swallowed air.

"How dare you!" America burst out in French, stomping over with his natural commanding presence (he caught himself before he tripped over a chair). The American accent had been more than pronounced, unregulated. He didn't notice a curious hush blanket the establishment as even humans took interest in the play. His nails were digging into his palm and the dirty-blond was sure he would have moon-shaped scars.

The government-dude twitched a little, facing America with a poised eyebrow. It didn't look like he recognized the additional personification. "What did you say to me?"

Finally at the older country's side, America set a heavy hand on France's shoulder with more strength than he intended. The European winced, but his face was raised as he looked at the young North American and his own country's elected official.

America ignored the question, scrutinizing the figure for any information on his identity. After making notes of everything he needed to file a report he was personally going to take care of, America forced a smile and said, slurring his speech only slightly, "I said 'how dare you', you fuckin' asshole. France-isss is no slut. He is who he is."

And then the American smacked France's shoulder cheerfully and informed him that they were leaving because they had no more business here. The other nations quickly followed his lead, gathering their senses. America's intervention had seemed to pull them back to their selves, and Prussia and Spain were sliding around chairs to have some words with the human man. England molded himself to their side, looking only a little flushed, and the other countries attending the now-forgotten celebration of France's new law formed a protective circle around the tall Frenchman.

As the nations (Prussia and Spain arriving later with wicked grins) ensured France that the human's words were lies and unfair, France smiled lightly and took it all with a calm face, laughing softly. Soon the allies dispersed, heading to hotels and apartments.

America smiled brilliantly at France when he bid him farewell and thought nothing more of the night. He awoke the next morning to a roaring headache and a dry mouth.

Why did his palm feel so sensitive?

* * *

…o0o…

* * *

The celebratory bar outing had gotten too indistinct in America's mind for him to remember much—though the day after, America did have a desire to report somebody (which he did, 'cause why not?). A month had passed since France's new law had hit the books, and already the fruity blond was pressing for sexual assault requirements that would stop the blaming of victims. America wondered what caused the sudden burst of passion for such a topic. Not that he was complaining, it was super cool and heroic of France!

Their next world meeting was supposed to take place in Japan, and America was super excited about that. He had flown in a week earlier to hang out with his smaller buddy. It would be so much fun! The dirty-blond had already planned a few outings.

Being around Japan was refreshing for the American. Japan was always so kind and respectful. He was determined to accept reality and react honorably to injustice; America could appreciate that. He strived for that kind of mentality, and Japan was the perfect role model.

Wandering the busy streets of the city, America soon found solace in a small pastry shop. Taking note of the name, the American texted his Japanese ally his whereabouts if the Asian wanted to meet up sooner than when they had originally planned. As he collected a diverse platter of bread and sweets, America smiled widely at the civilians milling about. They seemed surprised at the blinding emotion, some smiling politely back or others glancing around and averting their eyes. After a while, America got the sense he was making people uncomfortable so he set about simply eating his tarts and listening to the casual conversations around him.

Japan arrived a little while later and America couldn't suppress his desire for a hug that Japan accepted with respectable poise. They talked (well, America talked) about recent events and how ecstatic America was to see his friend again. It seemed like so long ago since they could hang out and chill! America continued to babble about horror stories and video games before he switched to anime without even pausing to take a breath.

Japan smiled softly up at the tall superpower, relaxing to the blunt sentences and different cultural presence.

It wasn't until Japan started to twitch uncomfortably did America quiet and give the ebony-haired country a concerned stare. Taupe eyes curved to the floor, studying the square designs like they held the answer to everlasting happiness. Not getting the response the younger nation was looking for, the dirty-blond directed his attention to the customers chatting around them. Perhaps someone did something that made his friend uncomfortable? Because last America checked, Japan hadn't found dogs to be a triggering topic.

An elderly man was conversing with what looked to be his grandchildren. They were happily gushing over the treats before them. The table next to the family was held by three young teenage girls, giggling fanatically as they surreptitiously pointed to people in the bakery.

Hm.

Did Japan feel uncomfortable with the teenagers' attention? America slanted his head and listened attentively to their flowing Japanese.

"No, he's too thin," the brunette confided. The two other girls tittered, exchanging nods and smiles. "Too ugly."

What?

Of the topics America had been expected, the appearances of the girls made it seem like they were gushing over crushes, not hating on people who were thin. America shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling inadequate. Did they scrutinize him and Japan and find them unworthy? America stopped to amend that: better make that just Japan, since the smaller country was definitely the healthier personification. England constantly reminded America that he was putting on a few kilograms.

Heaving a deep sigh, America beamed at Japan, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. The artistic country shifted at the physical contact but his small smile was warm and welcoming.

Since America had already tuned himself to the Japanese around him, he reflexively translated the upcoming sentences said by the same girls who had revealed their judgments on body sizes. He wished he hadn't.

"Those two men over there. The one with the glasses looks good."

"His friend is looking too boney; skinny people are so ugly and it's super unhealthy. They're, like, anorexic."

"It's no fun without someone who actually has a body to be able to hold! Skin and bones is just, ew."

America's eyes widened. Japan's face collapsed, crumbling into a plastic expression that could have been painted on a doll. The older nation sighed delicately and stood up. He beckoned America forward so they could go somewhere else. The American slowly picked himself up and took a hesitant step towards the door.

He felt like something _essential_ was in his palm but the flat design of his hand was allowing it to slide through his fingers like water. Lost forever.

Japan's grey-brown eyes flicked worriedly to America's sky-blue eyes.

America looked at his hands and layered them on top of each other. He curved his fingers, making a cupped shape.

He wasn't going to dismiss the feeling.

America swiftly turned on his heel and stomped over to the three teenagers with the sharp smile he often offered to rude politicians. From behind him, Japan's face had turned white in horror.

"Ladies," America said amicably in the native language. His glass smile had widened. The three looked up at him, curious and unknowing. America leaned down to their level and said simply, "How _dare_ you speak like that. My friend has a beautiful body. Being skinny makes him neither unhealthy nor ugly. You can't determine either of those without knowing him first."

By the time America finished his cold talk, Japan had rushed to his side, flushing in embarrassment at the direct mannerisms of the American.

America turned to Japan right when the Asian opened his mouth and interrupted with, "If you apologize, Kiko, I will not forgive you."

Japan's face tightened in stress. America was being unfair, but it was also something the dirty-blond was not going to compromise on. His friend did not deserve those words; skinny people did not deserve the inhuman barbs.

The teenage girls were staring at the two countries in shock and embarrassment. Curling his lip, America snagged Japan's wrist and the two stumbled out of the lovely-smelling bakery with mixed feelings.

Japan pulled his hand away immediately when America loosened his hold. The dirty-blond bit his lip and played with the edge of his bomber jacket. It had been low to put his friend in the position he had. And yet, worth it.

Because America felt like he was holding liquid diamond in his hands, protecting it from dropping to the ground and shattering like glass on the unforgiving ground.

The week between the two of them had at first been stilted as result of the exchange. It didn't take long, however, for all to be forgiven and Japan to graciously thank the younger country for standing up for him. America had only laughed and apologized for how harsh he had been on his friend.

By the time the world meetings finished and America took a plane back to the good ol' United States, the confrontation with the girls slipped into the back of his mind as his memories focused on the smiles of his friend and the fun they had together.

* * *

…o0o…

* * *

The meeting in Washington, D.C., had just been concluded, so America happily invited his friends and allies to eat lunch with him at a Texas-Mexican restaurant he loved. A few apologized and wished the American the best, but most countries followed the overly-excited man as he led them around his city.

As they waited to be seated, America surveyed the open booths and tables. His group was pretty large, but America hoped that wouldn't be a problem. It wasn't, because moments later a waitress with a kind smile guided the throng to tables pushed up together to fit them all.

The personifications got comfortable as glasses of water were set before them. America's closest ally was already arguing with France, who was daintily tossing his blond hair over one shoulder. Prussia and Spain were looped around France and smirking at England, who didn't appear fazed at the appearance of being ganged up against. Italy was talking happily as Germany nodded, Japan listening silently by their side. Canada, who America actually noticed, was nervously talking to the smiling Russian. The blanket of conversation in different languages hummed around America.

But instead of partaking, he closed his eyes and listened.

American English sprouted around the world personifications as his own citizens talked, and America felt pride blossom in his stomach. He was happy to be here, surrounded by diverse representatives, and also to be in his homeland.

Their food was laid out before them with reasonable timing for the sheer size of the group. As the countries happily munched on the American-Mexican blend of food, a loud American family gathered a few leaders' attention.

"They should get salad. God, they're so fat," the older woman was speaking poisonously. Her son and daughter shared an unreadable glance, not saying anything.

The man by her side added, "And they're calling obesity of disability? Disgusting. They just need to stop watching television and go to the gym sometime."

America felt his breathing stutter as the family continued to insult the unsuspecting couple sitting a couple tables down. His eyes were drawn the young children and the way they were shifting uncomfortably, holding their breath. Why judge people who they nothing about? Others' bodies are none of a stranger's business. All the hate does is make people feel less than human.

The dirty-blond swallowed his rice as he glanced at his stomach through half-lidded eyes. Was he fat? Disgusting? Unworthy? England had mentioned his weight a couple times, but America had always brushed it off for his ally simply being his prickly self.

America wanted to say something to the adults in the family. He really did. How could they not see that their flawed perception of beauty was encasing their children in a suffocating frame of impossibility?

But his mouth wouldn't move. He just stared, horrified, as the Americans continued to bite into their fellow human being like they were animals undeserving of a even a miniscule smile.

The atmosphere was steadily dropping and America felt strung up like a mechanical toy-soldier. By now, the overweight couple with tinkling laughs and bright eyes had hushed as the rude family made eye contact and a silent exchange ensued.

 _Stand_ , America ordered himself. _Good God, Alfred Jones, don't let these people be treated like this._

Then unreasonably harsh words left the mother's mouth and America could only watch as chubby faces fell like they were dropped from a mountain and banged up from every jagged rock conveniently placed in the way.

America couldn't breathe.

"You should not speak so judgmentally," Canada pleaded, standing up and walking over to stand in front of the couple.

France dropped a hand on America's shoulder, squeezed, and then pulled him up from his seat. Japan smiled encouragingly at the duo, casually tucking his napkin under his plate as he followed them. England slipped his hand in America's, smirking, and walked with them to be beside the brave Canadian. America let himself be led, surprise numbing his feet.

Japan said softly with an adorable smile, "You cannot determine health or beauty without knowing the people first. Your preconceived notions are often wrong without the context."

The mother looked aghast. The kids' shiny eyes had grown twice in size. The father stuttered out, "We were just trying to help. We're worried about their health."

France tilted his head, glancing at the large couple. They were staring unabashedly at the group of young men in amazed curiosity. "Ah," he said, "But as my friend said, you do not actually know them or their healthy-or-not habits to properly make such a call. You are not their doctors, hm?"

England added coolly, "They are human and deserve to be treated as such."

America smiled and listened to the countries inform the adults on respectable behavior. He didn't need to speak a single word. Pride tingled across his skin—useless shaming should never be accepted. Every body is beautiful, and no one can say differently.

* * *

 _._

 _fin_

 _._

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Phew, got that off my chest. By the end, I realized this kinda followed my other story _Inbox, Zero_ but it does have a similar motif so I'm okay with the slight unoriginality. Anyway, please let me know your thoughts! This is one of my more raw stories, so hopefully it meant something to you in a good and not bad way?


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